Hold Me (Promise Me Book 1)

by Brea Viragh

  There were always going to be things about the place I’d want to change. The scope of work already accomplished did nothing to displace my own memories of the place.

  Of me.

  The door squealed when I pushed it open. The scent of paint and sawdust greeted me and I noted how the mess inside grew to exponential proportions. The men had ripped joists apart and were in the process of replacing them, while the first sheets of fresh plywood defined the outline of the new kitchen. The layout was simple, an L-shaped configuration with a sink underneath the window. Maybe the mess was more controlled than I first assumed.

  Had the house always seemed so empty? I walked through each room and my footsteps echoed as I made my way upstairs. The master bedroom lay at the end of the hall and needed as much work as the rest of the house. Wallpaper dated the room and the closet would not fit so much as a broom in its depths. A project for another time, I knew.

  With a resigned sigh, Duncan had told me to make the remodel part of our five-year plan. We’d tackle the major issues first, like foundation issues and getting the main floor back in order. Then we would focus on cosmetics. He had no patience for my complaints when I tried to tell him how having only a single bathroom downstairs was not a cosmetic issue.

  I walked into my parents’ old room, memories both good and bad swarming me. Soon I would be married and building my own memories here while trying to look on the positive side of life. Me, married. I still had a hard time believing those words. The concept felt right for other people and, until I met Duncan, I hadn’t really cared. Yes, I had the ubiquitous Pinterest board filled with all manner of ideas and projects that came to nothing. It meant little to my own desires and…well, habits.

  I’d stayed habitually single. Sometimes I convinced myself I actually enjoyed being alone. Yet now I had returned to the home of my youth, fiancé in tow and a wedding to plan. A house to make into a home, filled with love and laughter. A steady job and a man who loved me. What more could I ask for? And why did it suddenly seem so strange?

  Sinking to my knees, unsteady, the first stirrings of weeping burned my eyes. The attractive ideas I’d had for the room dissipated, replaced with images of my own failure. August’s face flashed through my mind as the remembered heat of his touch made those tears tumble faster.

  Against my will, my insecurities standing behind me and growling in my ear, I let go. Those long-unshed tears clogged my throat with self-pity. I was alone and facing an uncertain future.

  Wonderful.

  **

  One week later, Duncan and I hit the town. After an afternoon of squabbling over wedding details, we sat down to dinner at the best restaurant Heartwood had to offer, the menu in front of me worn and frayed at the edges. Around us, families and couples in various stages of meal consumption filled the air with conversation.

  “Do you know what you’re having yet?” Duncan asked me.

  “Not a damn clue.”

  My habit was to always try to order something I couldn’t make at home. But I had to be discerning at a French restaurant. Sure, I couldn’t make escargot at home—or not well, at any rate—but that didn’t mean I wanted to eat it in public.

  Nothing so pedestrian as crepes for this girl. I had to admit the prospect of scouring an eight-page menu was a little daunting, especially considering the size of the town. My stomach grumbled and told me to go with the first item that sounded good, which in this case happened to be coq au vin.

  Duncan had found the little hole-in-the-wall cafe while going to the laundromat. It sat out of the way of the tourists crowding the town this time of year, with sheetrock painted celery-green and neat black-and-white-checkered tables. Servers bustled around like funeral attendants in their monochromatic ensembles.

  A large sign hanging above the door welcomed us to Franco’s, for all our bistro needs.

  “It’s getting pretty busy,” Duncan commented. He’d chosen a table on the patio, lucky to have the freedom to decide before the dinner rush hit. We sat and watched stars winking to life in the sky. A pillar of clouds floated above the hill to our right, catching the last few rays of the setting sun.

  “That must mean the food is good. I don’t remember this place being here the last time I came through.” I longed for something to fill the emptiness inside the bottomless pit of my stomach.

  I vowed to let the pressure of the last few weeks, as well as the bad temper sizzling beneath the surface, melt away. Seeing the house, followed by a confrontation about wedding details, had my blood boiling. Staying angry accomplished nothing; it annoyed Duncan and had me running for the nearest bar of chocolate. Like I hadn’t had enough of those to last a lifetime.

  The waiter brought bread, a fresh baguette made in-house, and stood patiently as he waited for our order. I ended up pointing to something at random, while Duncan rolled out his order like a champion.

  The moment the server departed, we clinked our water glasses together and I rolled my shoulders to work away the tautness. “I didn’t realize you spoke French.”

  Duncan winked. “I’m sure there are a few things about me I’ve kept up my sleeve to sprinkle here and there in the coming years so you don’t get bored.”

  “I would never get bored with you, honey. I chose to be with you for a reason.” I slathered butter on half of a bread slice and dipped the other in the herbed olive oil at the center of the table.

  Duncan gestured with his butter knife. “Good, because you’ll be stuck with me once we go through with this wedding.”

  “Please, let’s put our little spat in the rearview mirror and focus on dinner.”

  “I am focusing. Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

  “No, and I can stand to hear it a few more thousand times.” I smiled. I didn’t feel beautiful, let alone incredible.

  “Now that we’re back on speaking terms, how have things been for you this week?” I asked him. The bread went down smoothly and my stomach begged for more the instant the last morsel was consumed.

  “Work has been wonderful. I signed several new clients over the last few days. Can you believe one of them was paying nearly three thousand a year for home insurance?”

  “Ugh. Things cost way too much.”

  Duncan opened his mouth to respond when a voice cut across the parking lot at us.

  “Hey there. Isabel and Duncan!”

  I stifled the groan while simultaneously staring down into the folds of my napkin, recognizing the voice in an instant. “Please ignore him.”

  “But it’s August, silly. And he’s got a woman with him. This I’ve got to see. August! Over here!” Duncan raised his voice and I felt the table vibrate when he stood.

  The mention of a female companion had me looking up, tilting my head for a look. “He has someone with him? Who?”

  Duncan waved them over. “Hey you guys!”

  August and his date—I used the term loosely—strolled over to the black iron railing surrounding the patio. He and Duncan clasped hands in a power play while the miniature, over-powdered version of a Swedish supermodel peered at me. Sunshine blond hair straight from the stylist’s chair, upturned green eyes lined in black, and high cheekbones in a square face topped a voluptuous figure bound in a low-cut blouse and tight skirt.

  I disliked her on sight.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Duncan said, leaning heavily on the rail.

  “We’re getting a bite to eat,” August replied. “This place has the best Alsatian pizza. As close to France as you’ll ever get down South, so I’ve heard.”

  Duncan appeared intrigued by the idea. I didn’t get up.

  “There’s a line out the door,” August commented. “We’re never going to get a table at this rate.”

  “Why don’t you come on over and join us?” Duncan offered slowly, debating between wanting alone time and proper manners. He went with the latter. “The table is big enough for four.”

  “Are you sure? We wouldn’t want to impose…” Aug
ust trailed off and sent a questioning look toward his date, who shrugged.

  “I’m starved.” She glanced at the line forming on the other side of the door and pouted. “If we have to sit with them, then fine by me.”

  A woman after my own heart, perhaps? One who understood the importance of good food? I held out little hope. Even her perfume brought a scowl to my face.

  Duncan gestured them forward. “Come on, then. We’ve already placed our order but I’m sure the waiter will be back soon.”

  August and his lady friend found their way through the gate in the wrought-iron separating the dining area from the parking lot. They grabbed the two extra seats at our table and settled down.

  “Have you eaten here yet?” August wanted to know, flinging a napkin over his lap.

  I shook my head. “Never. It’s my first time.” My eyes darted back and forth between him and the mystery woman. “Is there something you want to say, August?”

  He caught on in an instant, contrite. “Oh God, my manners. Leda Cox, meet Duncan Whitaker and Isabel Cook. Everyone, this is Leda.”

  She stared at me, nodding, before lingering on Duncan longer than propriety dictated.

  My lip curled up and I forced it back down. “Charmed, I’m sure. How long have you two known each other?” How I wished for something to do with my hands to keep busy. The linen napkin in my lap twisted without the satisfaction of shredding.

  August opened his mouth to answer but Leda cut him off. “It’s been years now, although August finally worked up the courage to ask me out last Friday.”

  Last Friday, eh? I found the timing highly suspicious though heaven forbid I should say anything. “How wonderful for you!” I answered instead.

  “I’m glad August found himself such a pretty lady.” Duncan nodded once. “Overjoyed.”

  “This one with the compliments.” Leda beamed in Duncan’s direction.

  Duncan angled closer to her, putting his weight on his elbows. “So tell me the truth. Should we have gone with the pizza tonight?”

  “Don’t worry. Everything is delicious,” August replied.

  Leda glanced up as the waiter returned carrying two extra menus. August ordered a bottle of wine for the table and settled back to wait for it, arms casually looped behind his head.

  “It’s too nice of a night to stay home,” he commented. “We had a running debate as to cooking or dining out, but in the end Leda won.”

  “I’m at home most of the day. I need to feel free a few nights of the week, let my hair down and cut loose.” She shrugged and flicked at her long nails. “Otherwise I go mad.”

  Released on the public, more like. The gravelly tone of her voice grated on my last nerve and I was happy to accept the second round of bread for the table.

  I sat back in my chair. “What do you do for a living, Leda?”

  Ah, the awkward attempts at conversation. The break-the-ice stage I’d always hated in school. I remembered those days, forced to take turns in a circle and regurgitate your name and life story before your classmates.

  “I run a hair salon out of my house. Lots of people popping by at crazy hours but it’s not the same as getting out.” She ran a hand along her outfit. “I like the opportunity to dress up and look nice.”

  Why did I get the feeling she was making a point? I glanced down at my simple cotton dress.

  “You always look good to me.” August smiled, knowing the precise words to have Leda preening.

  She sent a playful slap in his direction. “Sweet man.” Her attention returned to me. “You should come and see me sometime, Isabel. I’ll try to help you with—” she gestured— “all of this.”

  “All of what?”

  She smirked. “I think you know.”

  I stifled a gag with more bread. “I’m so glad we had the opportunity to get together. The last time we tried didn’t work out so well.” I raised a brow at August. This occasion didn’t look any better.

  “I got the flu,” Duncan told Leda. “Bedridden for four days.”

  “You poor thing! I heard something was going around but I didn’t realize it took so much out of you.”

  “It did. I only returned to work the beginning of the week and it was rough at first. You forget how the flu lays you low once it gets its hooks in.” Duncan appeared happy for the audience. I didn’t blame him. After a time, I stopped listening. Horrible, I know, but I saw the man more than half of each day, every day, and it got to a point where his voice became easy to tune out.

  My ears perked up when I heard Leda say, “I hope you at least had someone at home taking care of you.” She sent me a pointed look. “With that kind of illness, it’s impossible to get up and take care of yourself. I remember the last time I caught something and it was awful!”

  “My girl did a fine job. The best she could, at any rate.” Duncan gave my hand an indulgent pat and grinned.

  “I hope so. I would hate to see you wither away because someone was too busy.”

  Yes, I definitely felt the jab this time. Leda had it out for me, although I didn’t understand why.

  “She’s never been good at those things,” August admitted.

  “Wow, I didn’t realize today had become National Dump on Isabel Day,” I put in with an angry sip of water. “Thanks a bunch.”

  “Don’t be like that. We’re just having a little fun.” August grinned at me and I had to look away before my mind swerved off course.

  I let Duncan grip my hand and continue talking to Leda after that. The wine appeared, poured by the resident expert and handed out according to age-old custom, which meant the oldest woman at the table received her wine before any others.

  I got my glass first.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Scowling at the waiter and rethinking the requisite gratuity, I gave a sigh. Next to Leda, I aged an automatic ten years.

  “I think it’s nice you’re out tonight.” I spoke low for August to hear. “It’s important for a man to enjoy female company.”

  “Oh, I agree.” He smiled at some memory, distant and sweet as his eyes glazed over. “It’s been too long since I’ve found someone I connect with.”

  “And this one fits the bill?” I jerked a thumb toward the Swedish wannabe chuckling over something witty Duncan said.

  “She does. I know we only started seeing each other this week but things are working out so far.” August grinned. “Sorry to interrupt your date. I’m happy to see Duncan finally making time for you. I’m sure you’ve had a busy week of wedding planning and wanted the alone time to talk.”

  I scoffed and waved the statement away. “Are you kidding? With the mess from the house taking up my mind, and Duncan unable to agree with any ideas, I haven’t gotten around to doing anything concrete with the wedding. Which sucks because time is getting away from me and we end up fighting every day.”

  “I saw the lights on at your place the other night but I didn’t stop. Were you there alone?”

  Of course he saw me there. We grew up being neighbors, after all. “I was checking the place out.” Why did I feel so defensive?

  “Duncan stayed at the hotel?”

  “He did. Stop being so snippy.”

  “I was just wondering.”

  “And I was spending some time with the old stones. Seeing what the contractors had accomplished.”

  Amused, August ripped off a piece of baguette. “Your concern is normal. You have a right to be there and see what the place needs.”

  “I think it needs a wrecking ball,” I grumbled from the corner of my mouth.

  Conversation continued to flow, mostly between Duncan and Leda. I tried not to get upset.

  Duncan’s eyes widened as the food arrived and I commended the chef for sending everything out at the same time. The server set the pizza on a stand in the middle of the table: sixteen inches of gooey fromage blanc melted among piles of sautéed onion and crispy bacon accompanied by a thin golden crust the envy of any Italian pizzeria.


  “Yeah, I definitely should have gone with pizza,” Duncan said.

  August gently tugged the stand closer. “Sorry, bud, I don’t share.”

  Leda nodded toward my plate. “How are you going to finish everything? It’s an awful big portion, don’t you think?” Her eyes travelled over my shirt.

  I stared at her salad. “Leftovers, darling. It’s a good way to stretch a dollar. Making one meal into two.”

  Duncan patted my shoulder again and I nearly flew face-first into my dish from the force. “Don’t worry about leftovers! Business has been good.” He spoke to the table. “I keep telling Isabel she doesn’t need to work herself into a tizzy about money, that we have enough saved and she can rest easy. She doesn’t believe me. Always worrying herself into an early grave trying to be the independent woman.”

  Lashes fluttered in his direction. “You are an admirable man, Duncan!” Leda exclaimed. “My father always said it was a man’s job to take care of the household. You seem like a responsible gentleman.”

  “I like to consider myself such.” Duncan mimed straightening a tie and the two of them laughed.

  I tore into whatever it was I ordered and promptly burned the roof of my mouth. Adding insult to injury, the chunk I’d bitten rolled off my tongue and plopped down on the table. Everyone watched its path—like a train wreck, unable to look away.

  “Careful. It’s hot.” Leda shot me a wicked smile. “You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.”

  I felt like the world’s biggest loser. “Yes, I know. A little too late now.”

  “Here.” Duncan handed me an extra paper napkin. “Go easy next time. If you’re too hungry to wait for it to cool down, then we can always get another basket of bread.”

  “I’m sure the waiter doesn’t care that you’ve demolished three baskets already,” Leda put in.

  I liked her less and less the more time we spent clustered around the same table.

  “I’m fine,” I assured them. “No need to worry about me. Everyone eat and enjoy your meal.”